


together under the sun

by you_idjits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fruit vendor!Cas, M/M, Peaches - Freeform, Pie, beekeeper!Cas, honey bees, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_idjits/pseuds/you_idjits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam says, at Dean’s shoulder. “If I’d known you were gonna flirt with the peaches vendor, I never would have let you stop.”</p><p>Or, the one where Dean pulls off the highway to buy pie from a roadside stand. Cas's roadside stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	together under the sun

“So get this,” Sam says from the passenger seat, “the victims were all missing the same thing – their hearts.”

“We thinking werewolves, then?” Dean glances away from the road. There’s an Oklahoma newspaper spread over Sam’s knees, crinkling against the denim of his pants and the leather of the dashboard. They’re forty miles out of Tulsa and going fast, too fast, the wind whipping past open windows. Dean drums his fingers on the windowsill, turns his face to the breeze.

“Maybe,” Sam says, folding the paper to keep it out of the wind. “The timing’s off, though. The full moon was weeks ago.”

“Oh yeah, I remember.” It had been a nice harvest moon, heavy on the horizon. Late summer orange. They were in Indiana on a rugaru hunt.

Dean lives for this – hot asphalt under his wheels, cornstalks a grainy green blur, his brother in the passenger seat.

They blow by a roadside fruit stand. Dean slams his foot on the brakes. There’s something about this stretch of highway that makes him want to stop.

“What the hell?” Sam asks, as Dean backpedals – completely illegally – to the fruit stand. He pulls off the highway and parks in the dust. “Dean?”

“Come on, Sammy. You’d rather have fresh fruit than junk food, wouldn’t you?”

Sam shoves the newspaper aside and turns to look at the stand. He presses a wide hand to the window. “The sign says pie, Dean.”

“Yeah. Peaches. Healthy.” Dean winks. He gets out of the car and doesn’t wait for Sam to follow.

The fruit stand is empty, save for the seller sitting in the shade. Dean whistles as he approaches, something he heard on the radio.

“You selling peach pie?” he asks.

The vendor looks up. He takes off a pair of sunglasses and oh, those eyes are blue. “Yeah, we’ve got one left. You want it?”

Dean looks at the fresh peaches and blackberries on display. He looks at the pink cheeks of the vendor, flushed from the heat. He licks his lips. “Sure.”

The man puts down his magazine – a car magazine, with a ’64 Shelby Cobra on the front. When he turns away to find a pie, Dean watches the way his shirt clings to his shoulders. He’s got a nice back, a nicer ass.

Dean picks up one of the jars of honey on display. Each one has a homemade label that reads “Castiel’s Honey Bees.” Well, Dean thinks, it’s kind of tacky, kind of cute.

“Castiel,” Dean reads aloud. “Would that be you?”

“Just Cas,” says the vendor. He comes forward with a peach pie in his hands. It looks heavy, bursting with peaches the color of the sunset behind him.

“Oh, God,” Dean says. “That looks– oh, God. I think I’m about to–” No, he won’t finish that sentence in polite company.

“Made fresh this morning.”

“You make ‘em all yourself?”

“I do,” Cas says. He puts the pie in Dean’s hands, which means that for a moment they hold it together, Dean’s hands over Cas’s knuckles.

“Uh,” Dean says. “Uh,” he tries again. He swallows and takes the pie. “The honey, though. You should say Castiel’s Homemade Honey, or something.”

“But I didn’t make the honey,” Cas says, “my honey bees did. So the credit belongs to them.” He squints, and his nose wrinkles up. Oh, God. Dean is so done for. He’s probably going to keel over and die, right here in the dust on an Oklahoma highway.

“Right,” Dean says. “Right. The honey bees.” He fumbles for his wallet. “Uh, how much do I owe you?”

“Would you like some honey too?”

“No,” Dean says, “that’s fine. We’re just passing through. I mean. Trying to get to Tulsa by tonight.”

“We?” Cas takes Dean’s bills and counts them out one by one, mouthing the numbers.

“Me and my brother. I’m Dean, by the way.”

Cas looks up, and he smiles. “Dean.” It’s a nice smile, unreserved. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

Something in that strikes Dean. It’s different than “nice to meet you,” he decides. It’s different.

Then Cas looks down again, at the register. He says, a little more shyly now, “So, you and your brother. No girlfriend?”

“No, no girlfriend.” Dean pretends to look over a tray of blackberries. “No boyfriend either.”

“Good,” Cas says. “I mean, cool.” The word sounds foreign in his mouth – this guy has the kind of voice made for old poetry, rustic stuff, not for slang.

Dean laughs, and then Cas laughs, and then they’re both blushing. Dean taps the tray of blackberries. “Maybe I’ll buy these too?”

“Okay,” Cas says. He looks them over more carefully than Dean did. “Some of these are a little too ripe. I hope you don’t mind?”

Dean is flirting with a guy who probably has a PhD in fruit. How did he get here?

“That’s fine,” he says.

“You said you were trying to make Tulsa by nightfall?”

“Yeah. Got work to do.”

“You’d do better to stay in town.”

“Town?”

“Haskell. About five miles that way?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. Is that where you live? With your, uh, honey bees?”

Cas nods. Huh. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for them to stay a night. Werewolves can wait.

“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam says, at Dean’s shoulder. “If I’d known you were gonna flirt with the peaches vendor, I never would have let you stop.”

Dean thinks about smashing his face into something. Or maybe burying it in the hollow of Cas’s neck. He probably smells like sweat, from being out here in the sun all day. And peaches.

“Sam,” Dean says.

“What, am I embarrassing you in front of your crush?”

“ _Sam_.”

“Oh my God, I am.”

Dean presses his eyes closed. Maybe he can dream his brother away if he dreams hard enough. “Cas, this is my brother, Sam. Sam, this is the guy I’m buying a peach pie from. That’s it.”

“Hello, Sam. Your brother is very cute. I’d like to take him on a date, if that’s all right with you.”

Dean blinks. He looks at Cas, who looks at Sam. Sam says, “Um, we were headed to Tulsa–”

“We’re staying in Haskell,” Dean blurts. He clears his throat. “For tonight. Cas says it’s a good idea.”

“Oh my God,” Sam says. He picks up the pie. “I’m going to wait in the car.”

“Don’t touch my pie,” Dean says, but Sam sticks out his tongue like a third-grader. He stalks off, leaving Dean, Cas, and the peaches together under the sun.

Dean doesn’t really care anyway. He’s got something better than pie.

**Author's Note:**

> We were having peaches for dinner the other night and my mind went to this. I recommend "[Warm Foothills](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WZh49lA9ns)" by alt-J for listening. Thanks as always to my betas, [Tasha](http://kraziiisme.tumblr.com/) and [Onja](http://appleblossomdean.tumblr.com/). They are good people for taking my nebulous writing and saying, "This is not crap."
> 
> Crossposted on [tumblr](http://shootingstarcas.tumblr.com/post/110767793401/together-under-the-sun-dean-pulls-off-the-highway).


End file.
